


Tears Full Of Sugar

by hellhoundsprey



Series: fullofsugar!verse [4]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Crossdressing, Feminization, Gender Issues, Genderplay, Lolita Jared, M/M, Older Jensen, Sexual Identity, Teacher Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6772750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared feels lost a lot. Jared cries a lot. Mr. Ackles makes everything better; always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears Full Of Sugar

"This one."

Hayley raises an eyebrow at him but accepts what he presses into her hands. "You know, you could do that yourself, pervert."

Jared makes a face at the insult. Hayley doesn't mean it (not _really_ , at least) but it still stings, reminds. But she's his friends and that's what friends do for each other - help each other out. Of course, Jared's now earned grumpiness is simply one more reason for her to trot to the changing rooms without further complaint.

Curtains pull back and Jared's fingernails are already digging into his elbows, arms crossed, heart rate slightly elevated. Hayley is as unimpressed as she will get but gives a, "Tadaaa," together with an unnecessary eye roll. She dishes out a little spin with her arms extended to the sides. Jared's personal mannequin.

By now, it's become a bad habit of Jared's, but he can't keep his eyes from resting a moment or two more than needed on her chest. It produces a strange hiccup in his very own flat one. Something between want and jealousy and grief.

It hadn't been any kind of masterstroke to notice how not a single one of Mr. Ackles' retained bras has cups below a size C.

Jared usually goes on these shopping sprees with less 'equipped' Marsha, but she wasn't available today. He can see Hayley's bra through the lavender top and knows his nipples will shine through, too. "This alright with you, mister?" Yeah, she's definitely not amused about the girlish choices.

"How much is it?" Hayley names the price and Jared cringes. They both sigh unnerved, Hayley because she is tired of waiting and Jared because his savings are coming to an end. It hadn't been the plan, no, but his birthday will be in a month or so which means another little source for more money for more secret clothing he can't wear anywhere but at... "Yeah, okay. Yeah." He rubs his face with both hands, brushes his hair back over his head, barely hears his friend snort her, "Great," before she disappears back into the stall. He'll take her size. With Marsha, he has to go up. It's becoming tricky the longer the summer is lasting and Jared frowns over every new inch his body gains.

Their arms are hooked tightly and he watches her boobs bounce in her ripped metal band tank top, and yet, his dick is hardening for nothing but the soft piece of fabric that's carelessly flung over her forearm.

As they wait in line, Hayley doesn't look up at him to address him when she murmurs almost passingly, "What's his name anyway?"

Jared stares at the back of the person in front of them and feels his insides coming alive. "... What?"

"Jay," she groans, _Jay_ , because it sounds cool and short and hip and he's their boy, in a way.

"There's no one," he promises, spits, grumbles, and it's horrible to say it because he shouldn't have to lie to his friends, not them; everyone but them. And it's horrible because _absolutely no one can know_. No one.

Of course, it's also horrible because denying Mr. Ackles out loud makes the possibility that it's all just in Jared's head so much more physical.

Hayley snorts her disbelieve. "Sure. You spend all your money for 'no one'."

"Seriously, Hay." (Hay and Jay and Marsh, forever and ever and they carved it into trees, too.) "It's only for me." A lie. A step forward in line. Hushed voice, deep frown, dry mouth, burning cheeks. "I... I get off on it, okay?" Not a lie at all. "That's it." Definitely a lie.

She looks up at him at that and next to the (reasonable) fury, there's also something like softness in her eyes. Her mouth pouts and eyes twitch and Jared wonders if he looks as cute as that sometimes, too, when he's flustered or concerned. If Mr. Ackles ever saw him look like this and thought he was cute. She rumbles her, "Duh. You don't say," and clearly intends for it to sound cool, unimpressed. Jared can hear the faint choke in her voice though. He looks ahead again while he tries not to wonder if her voice broke from either disgust or pity.

Finally, it's their turn. Hayley hands the top over to the cashier lady and Jared simultaneously reaches into the back of his jeans to get his wallet. "Oh!" and it startles the both of them, confuses them with too much sweetness. Neither Hayley nor Jared are exactly 'cute' (Jared is in boy clothes, after all) but when Jared glares at the lady, her smile is so wide it's almost reaching up to her ears. "That's so cute of you to buy this for your girlfriend, young man! If only my son was this attentive with the ladies!"

Jared feels like throwing up. Right here, right now. What rescues him is Hayley's strong arm around his waist, pulling him in close, guiding him. He hears her (almost not a hundred percent obviously sarcastic), "Oh yeah, he's the _sweetest_ ," and somehow, that helps. Helps really well. His stomach feels weird with being compressed and let loose so fast but his arm tugs around her shoulders and he squeezes her, smiles; sees her smile, too. The cashier is too occupied to notice that the softness exchanged in between the teenagers has nothing to do with being girlfriend and boyfriend.

Without a doubt, Jared loves his girls as much as he possibly can fathom without wanting to become intimate with them.

~

Rain makes the entire world smell even more like summer than actual sunshine does. It carries all the smells, all the atoms of light back into the air, lets them float, makes them tangible. It has been a long day and Jared imagines that the rain makes his skin smell like summer, too.

The door is not even open yet but Jared already rushes his, "I'm sorry," because he's soaked right down to his skin and will leave puddles where he will walk inside of Mr. Ackles' house. Even his sneakers are drenched. Well, they have holes in them, anyway.

Mr. Ackles smells heavy. The good kind of heavy. The kind of heavy Jared loves to bury his face in, right in the curve of Mr. Ackles' neck where the shirt is undone just right, where Mr. Ackles' beard graze the one and his shoulder the other one of Jared's temples.

Mr. Ackles makes Jared shudder and makes Jared's heart go wild, especially when he is taken aback by something Jared does. Jared tries not to overdo it, really; pushing too far and making Mr. Ackles uncomfortable is the least thing he wants. When it was starting to rain though when he was about to leave, Jared decided to exchange his dark grey tee for a white one. Jared is well aware of how hard his nipples are, cups his hands over the bulge in his own jeans and lets Mr. Ackles see him like that. Drenched, see-through. Could as well be naked, actually. Wears a face as if he was. As if he would let Mr. Ackles see him completely. He never hides anything from Mr. Ackles, not really - except for the things between his legs that don't go with the rest of him, maybe. But even those want to be seen, strain for it. Jared's toes curl into the wet insole of his shoes.

Mr. Ackles doesn't clear his throat (which would be cheesy and a little creepy, would say too much) but gestures for Jared to come inside, leans down to peck a kiss on Jared's wet mouth. Maybe tastes like summer, too. Jared closes the door and shivers.

"Are you cold?" As if Mr. Ackles couldn't see that. "You wanna take a quick shower?"

"Just a towel would be fine," Jared assures, but is advised to warm up, seriously, what if you catch a cold? Jared can't say no to Mr. Ackles when he's worried like that. Mr. Ackles tends to worry.

Before Jared can make it to the bathroom, Mr. Ackles notes from somewhere behind, "I put some clothes on the laundry basket for you," and if Jared wasn't completely in over his head already for this man, he would be now. Mr. Ackles is always so sweet.

When Jared is done showering and unfolds what Mr. Ackles laid out, his earlier 'thank you' for the gesture becomes insufficient. Actually, Jared can't _believe_ what he has in his hands.

It's not one of the pieces he bought. It's nothing he lent from his friends or took from his sister. It's nothing Mr. Ackles' former girlfriends left at his place.

It's something new.

For Jared.

Something _new._ For _him._

Jared keeps his sobbing quiet and slaps his face with cold tap water before dressing up. The lump in his throat is not vanishing at the touch of sweetest baby blue up his thighs. The panties are too tight to contain his now drooling cock, feel so amazing and tight that it doesn't take many strokes to release some of the tension right down into the toilet bowl. The panties fit now. Jared ignores the relentless throbbing between his legs that grows again with every new piece he puts on.

A dark grey pleated skirt; a little too big around the hips. A white blouse in a rather regular cut (and too wide too) but obviously meant for a girl with the lines of lace across the chest and on the tips of the collar. There's matching socks, too. (These fit.)

And for underneath the blouse - Jared spends clearly too many touches on it, judged by the pull between his legs - the most innocent, most unsuspicious bra. Triangle shape. Thin, nude material. Without wires or cups. Not even hook fastening. Just for pulling it on (and off).

This one is so small it bites into Jared's flesh. It must be meant for _really_ little girls.

Jared stares at his reflection and almost tears up again over the mental image of Mr. Ackles going shopping for these things. For Jared. Buying little girls' clothing, maybe excusing himself for not knowing his niece's sizes. Needing to estimate Jared's size and getting them mostly right; mostly, because Jared isn't bitchy and would never complain, not about presents like this.

Jared can barely walk, not with how the new clothes shift on his skin, how they rub him in the best and wrongest places. Humiliation overcomes him as he realizes how long he must have been in here (way too long for only a shower) and that if he doesn't get off once more, he won't be able to get through this afternoon.

The bathroom door opens very timidly. Jared puts his feet out, first, and his face later. "Don't look," he orders into the room, unsure where Mr. Ackles is.

"Okay."

Jared tiptoes to the couch, sits down, arranges his skirt, the blouse. Hands over his crotch ( _again_ ). Puts his eyes on Mr. Ackles whose own are closed where he sits and waits in the armchair, two glasses of ice tea in front of him; one for Jared. Mr. Ackles is always such a good host.

Mr. Ackles has his leg thrown over the other.

Jared bites his lip. "You can look now."

How beautiful Mr. Ackles' lashes drag heavenwards when he opens his eyes. All slow, all elegant. Like a poem, a movie in slow motion; just for Jared.

Jared's dick throbs underneath his stacked palms because Mr. Ackles' eyes are dashing all over him, quick and unable to decide, and because Mr. Ackles' lips part just a little, as if he needed to breathe through his mouth.

_Yes. Look at me._

Just when Jared wants to start talking because Mr. Ackles seems to absorbed, his English teacher asks if Jared likes what he picked out. "I _love_ it," Jared corrects, and it comes out choked because Jared's throat is full of so much more. His eyes feel overflowing, too, but Mr. Ackles is smart and would know how now, any tear from Jared would be caused by happiness. "They're beautiful. I don't know what to say. They're all so beautiful, Mr. Ackles."

Jared can barely swallow but has to when Mr. Ackles seems to start moving, leans in closer to Jared. Jared sat far away from the armchair with intention, in order not to scare off poor Mr. Ackles who is way too nice to Jared anyway. Who wouldn't have to be that nice or nice at all but is the sweetest, the kindest.

"And the sizes?" Jared's sweetheart asks, all eager and consumed as if he really was concerned about it, as if he really wanted to know. "Are they alright? I wasn't sure, uh, what to get, so I..."

 _You guessed. Imagined me and guessed._ "They're perfect," Jared croaks. A fat teardrop falls to the back of his hand. "Oh," he says himself, bears one hand to rub at his eyes, feels stupid but so so loved, so happy. The tears won't stop and he laughs about it, laughs about himself and the situation, about how lucky and doomed he is. His left hand still covers his apparently unfazed arousal. Another thing to laugh about.

~

"Mooooom! I can't _find_ it!"

"Maybe it's in the laundry, honey?"

Jared keeps pretending to be absorbed by his history homework but can clearly imagine the stomp of his little sister's foot on the ground, her furious face. "You said that weeks ago already! It's GONE, Mom!"

Jared's stomach pulls tighter the longer the argument about the lost item lasts. Of course, he knows exactly what Megan is searching for, and of course he acts all clueless when they turn to ask him if he has maybe seen Meggy's little pink skirt, you know, Jay, the one she wore to Christy's birthday party this March. The words, "I have no idea," accompanied by, "but I guess I haven't seen it," make two heavy lies that add to the stones in Jared's guts.

Their mother sighs, hands balling into her hips, and she's clearly somewhere between fed up and unwilling. "Well, I guess it can't be helped then. We'll get you a new one."

"Oh!" Megan cheers and, "Oh," Jared's insides moan. "Can I get new shoes, too? And a new sweater? And-"

"Hey, calm down!"

Feels like it's directed at Jared, too, and thus he lowers his eyes back to his homework. It's not meant for him, obviously, because why should it? They don't know about anything.

While forcing himself to make a silent vow not to touch Megan's new clothes, Jared can't help to nevertheless wonder if maybe she grew enough for their sizes to still be slightly compatible.

~

The basketball hits his face, hard. The impact makes a nasty sound and smashes Jared into the ground.

"Oh my god!" someone yells, "I'm so sorry! Oh god!"

It's genuine worry, Jared thinks as he gets up on his elbow, feels at his face. His hand comes away blood-free. Someone, no, two of his classmates, help him to his feet. Jared groans, tries to shake the dizziness away. His cheek is throbbing, bad. The teacher, without being asked and without much patience, comes up to him and asks if he's okay. Jared says yes; only an accident. Two hands on his face for a soft cradle, concerned eyes. Jared's eyes flutter shut and he hisses at the check-up.

Somewhere, rather far away but not safe from Jared's ears, someone snorts, air-light and cannonball-heavy, "Faggot."

It's not like Jared hates sports. He actually likes it, is not bad at it, either. He's _great_ at basketball, actually. What keeps him from joining a club though is this stupid, somehow unavoidable, somehow forever connected with it aggression. Stereotypical, masculine, crushing-everything.

Jared ends this PE lesson's match with his team winning with double the other team's score. He glares at no one in particular, doesn't look at anyone at all, just scrubs himself clean under the shower. Tiles don't stare back or call him stupid words. The water pooling to his feet is tinted in the softest pink.

"Good game, Padalecki," some name- and faceless guy says, hand outreached for a no-homo-handshake, and Jared almost spits into said hand before deciding for the wiser option of just brushing past it, past anything.

Stupid. All of it stupid. Unnecessary. What do you think you're doing? What good did you do with that, Padalecki? Jared has no answers.

There is crying at home, punches to pillows, at the sight of what the rough game left him with. Hour-long debates with himself later, he _does_ end up on Mr. Ackles' doorstep despite everything. It's their only opportunity this week and simply seeing Mr. Ackles, being in front of his house, is eternally precious to Jared. Even if he looks and feels like shit.

"I just came because wanted to say I… won't come today, so… Uhm…"

"Hey," and the front door opens just that little more, against the pressure of Jared's hands on the outside, trying to keep it closed. Jared averts nervous eyes as Mr. Ackles takes him in; cringes. "Are you alright?"

"PE." Jared doesn't feel like talking. Shouldn't be here, shouldn't bathe too much in Mr. Ackles or he won't be able to leave like he planned to do it. "We had a match, and. It got a little out of hand. I." Twist back over his shoulder, eyeing the street. "I should go. I should go, Mr. Ackles. Sorry."

Jared says that, but his legs won't move. A short silence, a waiting for something Jared isn't sure he could name if someone asked. Does he want Mr. Ackles to ask him to stay? To ask him again if he is really okay? It would not be the first time to cry in front of his teacher (and not the last time, either), but that's not what his mind revolves around. When Jared is honest with himself, what he is scared most of here is that Mr. Ackles might _not_ say any of those things.

A quiet sigh. Jared's foot is lifting already to take him back home, but then there's movement behind the door and a hand reaches out for Jared, drapes itself into the curve of his neck where throat meets shoulder. It slips in there, right into where the tiny slit the hood of Jared's sweater allows it.

"You look like you need a drink. Which I would say if you were old enough."

Jared smiles, has to when Mr. Ackles makes remarks like that, still has his face turned away, his neck stretched. Mr. Ackles' palm still cups him there. A thumb skids along the line of Jared's jaw.

"I have tea, though. Iced or not, your choice. And some time to listen, if you want to talk."

Jared closes his eyes. Mr. Ackles' voice curls around him, soothes him in a way nothing else seems to be able to. His smile fades. Jared hears the wind whistling through the street. It's a gray day today, not raining, no sunshine, just gray. What a perfect picture.

"Is it… would it be okay if I didn't dress up today, or…?"

"Of course," Mr. Ackles says immediately, still soft, still petting Jared's neck.

So Jared comes in. So Jared gets his tea steaming hot, something herbal, and Mr. Ackles has the same as they sit on the couch. So Jared ends up with his legs folded up as a barrier between the two of them. While Jared sips his tea, Mr. Ackles has both hands on Jared's naked feet. Something between a rub and a massage, but either way so very gentle it puts a pink veil of embarrassment on Jared's face. Mr. Ackles' hands are huge, but Jared's ginormous feet make them look close to normally sized.

A warm shudder from definitely not the tea goes through Jared as Mr. Ackles' fingers more and more often edge up over his ankles, up to his shins. Jared talks about unimportant things, about how it is at home, definitely not the PE lesson. It doesn't seem important anymore anyway right now, not with Mr. Ackles slowly but surely pushing Jared's sweatpants up his legs. The bruises were already forgotten until Mr. Ackles unearths Jared's knees.

They both look at them for a while before Jared states, matter of fact, "It was a rough game."

"Obviously," Mr. Ackles says.

Nothing for a while.

Mr. Ackles' fingers feel over the edgy shapes of Jared's knees. (Too edgy, ugly, _deformed_.)

"Stop that." Jared mutters that, quietly, puts his hand on his rolled-up sweatpants and wants to tug them back down. Mr. Ackles shouldn't see this side of him.

"Does it hurt?" Mr. Ackles wants to know.

"No. It's just…" Ugly.

"Is this why you don't want to change?"

Jared frowns at his knees but cannot answer.

Whole palms cover his knees now. A better proportion than with his feet; looks right again, with Jared small and fragile under Mr. Ackles. "If you want to wear them, you should go ahead, Jared."

Sickened curl of lips. "But I… It looks…"

"Don't worry about it," Mr. Ackles assures.

Jared cups his tea harder, lets its heat bleed into his palms. Squirms a little. "There are more though." Cringing. "I dunno, I…"

"You don't have to if you don't want to." Soft petting. Jared lets a tight sigh escape him. "I'm just saying this shouldn't stop you. Everyone has days where they don't look their best. That's alright."

"But I want to be _pretty_ for you," Jared murmurs.

"You _are_ pretty, Jared," Mr. Ackles says.

If Jared were to reply to that, what would or could come out of his mouth? Not much. Maybe nothing. So Jared does that - says nothing, but feels everything. Lets his temple sink against the backrest of the couch, lets his fingertips crawl over the back of Mr. Ackles' hand.

He could say 'really?' and get out another sentence like that last one, could, and it would be so easy. Would feel like cheating though, since Mr. Ackles had said it all by himself. Said it with Jared being here in his big brother's hand-me-downs, too big sweater and sweatpants, with a battered face and knees and Mr. Ackles didn't even see his elbows yet, the ugly scrapes where he had slid over the ground in an attempt to lunge for the ball. And Mr. Ackles thinks he is _pretty_.

"Thank you," Jared says eventually. He notices his throat too tight, his mouth too dry, but can't do anything about it now.

"... Jared? Can I ask you something?"

Just when Jared brings his hand up to wipe over his face in order to keep from crying, Mr. Ackles shuffles in, inches his thigh closer to where Jared's ass is digging into the couch, and Mr. Ackles' hands are still on Jared's knees. Jared blinks, feels his feet curling over Mr. Ackles' thighs. Warm. Denim. "... Yes?"

"For you… is it… is it like…" Mr. Ackles searches for words, Jared can tell - sees it in the slip of a tongue between lips, in the soft furl of eyebrows. Mr. Ackles' hands are now clasped somewhere just above Jared's knees, still there, not on naked skin anymore now but tight and hot enough for Jared to be completely aware. Jared watches Mr. Ackles wetting his lips again. "Is it, for you, the case that you would like to really… _be_ a girl? As in, really? Completely? ... _Physically_?" Jared blinks, confused, so Mr. Ackles clears his throat nervously, and simplifies, "Would you... rather not have the kind of genitals you were, uhm, born with?"

And again, Jared blinks. The question leaves him baffled.

Mr. Ackles obviously feels uncomfortable now and Jared understands that he must have been nervous before, unsure if it was okay to pose this question, and Mr. Ackles says all sweetly and humble, "I'm, I'm sorry, that… I didn't mean to, uh, offend you, or, or anything, I just… I keep wondrin', and… Sorry. Sorry, this was weird. Sorry. You don't have to answer that."

"No," Jared insists, still slightly airy, "it's okay, I… I just never really…" He stops, thinks. "I've never really thought about it like _that_."

Embarrassed eyes, circling palms. "No? Really?"

"Yeah," Jared decides, nods slowly then more and more sincerely. The cup in his hand is almost forgotten, but its weight is calming. "I… Well, sometimes, I…" Swimming eyes. Looking for words. Hard to do when you've never vocalized any of those things out loud yet. "It looks stupid in clothes, sometimes, I guess. Like… in skirts, I…" Grimace, nervous smile. "Well, girls don't have a bump there, so…! That feels silly." He almost slips the information that he often likes to tuck his junk back behind his legs to create a better illusion - but then stops himself early enough. That's nothing Mr. Ackles needs nor wants to know. Mr. Ackles shouldn't be involved in Jared's effort to be pretty, not like that.

"But you don't feel like… that, uhm, that you would feel better if it wasn't there at all?"

Jared shakes his head. "I guess not. No."

One of Mr. Ackles' palms slips down, almost all the way down Jared's thigh. Jared's breath gets caught in his throat, but it startles him awake again, makes him aware of how close Mr. Ackles is sitting with him now, how it's not Jared climbing into Mr. Ackles lap but almost _the other way around_. "So... you're not…?"

Oh. _Ooooh_. A flush down Jared's neck. "No, I, I don't want surgery, I guess, or… No. I just. I just like to…"

"… do what you want to do," Mr. Ackles completes.

Jared nods, again, slowly. "… Yes. Yes."

"Would you put it like that?"

"Yes."

"That you want both, while, uhm, still being… you?"

"I'm not a boy," something tells Jared to say without himself having much say in it, without much filter or thought - it's just there, "but I know I'm not a girl, either." He frowns at that himself, slightly bewildered, heavily aware of Mr. Ackles' hand caressing his leg. "I'm… Does that make sense?"

"Absolutely," and Mr. Ackles makes it sound so sincere, so honest, that Jared can believe it.

Jared watches Mr. Ackles copying his nodding, egging him on like that. "Yeah," Jared says, then, again, more to himself than anything else, "… Yeah. _Yeah_."

Mr. Ackles' eyes are very green and very wide, intense. Jared doesn't feel lost in them. More like coming home, really.

"I'm me."

Feels easy. Uncomplicated. Has it always been this clear? Jared's chest feels wide.

Mr. Ackles nods, then smiles, then inches closer, again. "That's perfectly fine," Mr. Ackles says before he curls down to press a kiss to the biggest of Jared's bruises on top of his knee.

Jared's stomach hums. "Sir."

"Yeah." Another kiss, ever-so-slightly higher than the first, and Jared watches and hurts equally. "Yeah, I know."

Feels like an eon until Mr. Ackles finally comes up to kiss Jared's mouth, feels like he kissed Jared's knees forever and ever, enough to last Jared for years. Mr. Ackles breathes, "Y'taste like chamomile," stupidly, senselessly, but Jared doesn't pay much attention anyway, has his eyes shut and his mouth open and his heart on the tip of his tongue which he feeds to Mr. Ackles more than happily.

Mr. Ackles is kind of on top of him at some point, crouched and in an awkward angle, but has his mouth on Jared's and one hand in Jared's hair and the other roaming up and down Jared's tightly shut legs which are thrown over Mr. Ackles' own - doesn't complain, so Jared won't, either. That hand tugs on the seam of Jared's sweatpants every now and then, maybe every time Jared runs his thumb over the shell of Mr. Ackles' ear, and Jared melts every single time. The thought of Mr. Ackles slipping his hand under Jared's hoodie where he would find nothing but blank skin, or Mr. Ackles stripping Jared out of his sweatpants to brush his hands over Jared's naked legs… Both of them seem too good to be true. _Are_ , to be exact, but dreaming is easy with Mr. Ackles breathing heavy against Jared's teeth.

"Are you sure you don't want to put on the skirt?"

"... Would you, uhm... _like_ me to?"

Mr. Ackles groans and sighs all in one, buries himself in the nape of Jared's neck when he does so, and kisses there, too, after admitting, "God, yeah."

Turns out Mr. Ackles already put everything in place, as usually, in the bathroom. Megan's baby pink skirt, no socks, simple white cotton panties, white cotton bra - and something new.

"It suits you so well," is Mr. Ackles first and immediate reaction, and Jared almost feels bad for how painful Mr. Ackles' face looks like, for how awkwardly Jared has to cup his hands over his crotch where his dick pulses hot and ready.

"Thank you," he croaks, helpless, feels out of place until he is right in front of Mr. Ackles who sits upright, back against the backrest of the couch, and can only be described as drinking in the sight of Jared.

Eyes up to Jared, nervously back down, up again. Helpless smile. A hand comes up to feel at the fuzzy plush of Jared's snow-white sweater.

"You look like a kitten in this."

Jared feels like coming out of his skin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Very cute." Dumbly, Mr. Ackles repeats, "It really suits you," and then gently tugs on one of Jared's wrists. Looks at the sweater, a little higher (maybe Jared's bare neck?), then pats the top of his own thigh. "C'mere, kitten. C'mon."

Climbing into his teacher's lap, Jared once again - like how so many times before lately - is tempted to pinch himself awake. But he couldn't take to wake up now, for nothing in the whole wide world. His fingers curl so lovely around Mr. Ackles' shoulders. The soft sweater shifts so nicely over Jared's naked skin, wherever the bra isn't (and where it is, it simply feels _unbelievable_ ), and Mr. Ackles' muscles shift so nicely under Jared's body, tops of thighs against the back of his own, his tiny cotton-covered ass all lightly, never urging, never pushing too far. Mr. Ackles wouldn't like that, to be violated like that.

Hands roam over Jared's back, over the sweater, down to the skirt and even over the beginning of Jared's ass, the first half of his buttocks, and everything shifts over Jared's skin. The sweater accidentally shoves up over Mr. Ackles' hands on the way up and let him underneath. Jared shudders and dwells in the seconds Mr. Ackles is too shocked to withdraw, dwells in the wetness in Mr. Ackles' eyes.

"Say it again," Jared breathes.

"What? Callin' you kitten?" Lick of lips, eyes now definitely on Jared's throat. Gentle drag of hands, down again, and it's almost like Mr. Ackles squeezes him there, over his way too short and barely fitting anymore skirt, and Jared's blood thrums deadly between his legs. Eyes back up to Jared's, deep and wet, and Jared feels himself drawing his breath through his mouth now. Mr. Ackles' lashes flutter oh-so prettily when he says it again, hums, "Kitten," all for Jared, nobody but Jared.

Jared makes him repeat it over and over again, squeezed between kisses and all the way through that endless journey of Mr. Ackles' hands along the line of Jared's back, all the way until he doesn't have to give a cue for Mr. Ackles to say it, whisper it, groan it. Jared almost loses it right here, right on top of Mr. Ackles, realizes way too late that he must have been grinding down and against Mr. Ackles and curls tight around him then, all overlong limbs and shaky bones. Maybe Mr. Ackles understands, because the hold is returned quickly. All held and safe, Jared can catch his breath, tugged close into the nape of Mr. Ackles' neck.

When Jared brings himself to climax that night, at home, on top of the covers because everyone is already asleep and he is burning up, endlessly, it's to the clear, forever unforgettable memory of Mr. Ackles' erection bulging out hard right underneath Jared's ass.

He cries about that, too, but his smile won't leave him throughout all of it.

~

Mr. Ackles is looking up at Jared in a way that reminds Jared of a fairytale. A movie.

Mr. Ackles could say many things right now, anything. Could say 'boys don't cry' or 'please don't cry, it makes me sad', but what he does say is, "Do you need a tissue?" Like that. All sweet. Always caring. Never judging.

Jared shakes his head 'no' and shudders with another hiccup of a sob.

Jared shudders again when Mr. Ackles' hands start pushing up his bare legs.

"Shhh," Mr. Ackles says.

All reason or ability to cry is gone. Just like that. What was he even crying about? He cannot remember. All there is is the drag of Mr. Ackles' warm, warm hands over Jared's bare, bare skin.

Jared stares down until he notices that Mr. Ackles is staring up at him, thus turns to make eye contact.

Mr. Ackles' hands push higher. And higher.

And higher.

Jared doesn't dare to blink. He is aware of his body being very relaxed, laid-back. How couldn't it in the presence of Mr. Ackles?

But inside? Inside, Jared is bursting. All the way. Everywhere.

Before he says it, Mr. Ackles' mouth opens and trembles, just like that, and his eyes blink once and quick, just like that. And then, he says it.

"You're so beautiful, kitten."

Something very tender inside of Jared's bones twists very softly. Something like stretching first thing in the morning. Something like laughing. Something like crying. Something like relief.

Jared blinks too, now. A few times in a row, very quick, blink-blink-blink-blink; can barely see through the tears, can barely breathe through the love.

Mr. Ackles' fingers dance over the high and highest tops of Jared's thighs until they push against the skirt. And then until they push the skirt _up_.

And Mr. Ackles breathes, "Kitten," again and if Jared didn't know any better, he would say Mr. Ackles sounds just as hurt and fragile as Jared feels.

Jared hears the birds outside. Hears his own heart, hears the distant buzzing of the fridge.

The sensation of Mr. Ackles' hands is forever imprinted into the insides of Jared's thighs.

Jared lets the pressure of Mr. Ackles' hands guide his knees outwards because they can't possibly do it on their own. All of Jared's control is in his hands, his mouth, his eyes. Mr. Ackles is still looking up to Jared and Jared wants to lean forward, to feel Mr. Ackles' lips on his own, but he can't move. He is jelly everywhere but where his pulse drums hard underneath his palms and everywhere but where Mr. Ackles' nervous-damp hands slide over his legs.

Mr. Ackles doesn't look to where he wanted Jared open. Mr. Ackles also doesn't touch there; not really.

Jared's thighs tremble as fingertips tickle over them. Too sensitive. Too much.

Those hands suddenly go from his thighs to around his back, squeeze him close. Jared feels his own face burning against Mr. Ackles' button-down.

"It's- it's okay, everything's okay." Jared relaxes at first but Mr. Ackles speaks up again, this time so much more nervous. "Or, are- _are_ you okay? Was that okay? Oh shit, I- I didn't mean to, uh, I-"

"I'm okay," he splutters immediately. Oh, poor, poor Mr. Ackles. Jared's chest aches in so many ways for him. This time, it's so much Jared's very own fault that breathing feels like swallowing needles. Jared rubs his cheek against Mr. Ackles' chest, feels both of their heartbeats - absolutely out of synch but at least both completely wrecked.

"Oh god." Mr. Ackles groans and Jared feels how he takes one hand off Jared's back, presumably to wipe it over his face. Jared can hear the beard bristling. "No, Jared, I shouldn't have, I... God. This is... This is bad. I shouldn't have..."

"No," Jared hushes, now dares to get a hand off from between his legs, curls it around Mr. Ackles' neck. "No, it was great, I really liked it; please. Don't say that."

Mr. Ackles doesn't talk back but makes an unwilling sound. Jared can feel the tendons in Mr. Ackles' neck stretch when Jared starts kissing him there. In contrast to earlier tries though, Jared isn't pushed off now.

Jared closes his eyes here and dwells in the moment. Takes a second to think about what just happened. How far Mr. Ackles let himself go here.

Mr. Ackles freezes and grits with unknown weight when Jared tugs him just a little too close.

"Sir," Jared breathes, chokes, rakes both of his hands through his teacher's beard now, flows up and against him and lets their noses collide, their foreheads, kisses his love, can't believe his luck, will never comprehend.

Jared hurts together with Mr. Ackles because Mr. Ackles is hard in his jeans where he let Jared tug him too close.

A few (hundred) kisses in, Mr. Ackles finally reciprocates them. Jared wishes he had two mouths - one for apologizing and one for kissing. The fear of not being able to kiss Mr. Ackles anymore ever again if he stops now is as real as the heavy-sweet taste of ice tea between the two of them.

Mr. Ackles pulls back and leaves Jared cross-eyed. It always feels ultimate when that happens, when Mr. Ackles separates them. Feels like 'I've had enough of you', like, 'I can't take any more than that'. A pang of misery through Jared's heart. And this time, this time Mr. Ackles bows his head so that the two of them are forehead against forehead, so that Jared can feel the light layer of sweat on Mr. Ackles' skin, the texture of his sorrow-wrinkled forehead.

"I'm really scared, Jared."

Heart in his throat and his thighs and between them, and Mr. Ackles sounds so hurt it busts like shrapnel. Hands to Mr. Ackles face because how couldn't they? "Why?" Jared whispers (like a secret).

Mr. Ackles draws his breath as if it was the hardest thing to do. "I'm just... What if... what if I... happen to hurt you?"

"You wouldn't," is Jared's immediate response.

It draws a weak laugh from his beloved teacher.

"No, really. You wouldn't. And you _couldn't_ , Mr. Ackles."

"You have no idea." Another pain, maybe even sharper than the last. More pressure from Mr. Ackles' forehead. Maybe he needs to lean on to somebody. Jared is happy to be that somebody here and now. "If it happened," Mr. Ackles whispers, muses, maybe hopes that nobody (not even Jared) can actually hear him, "we couldn't undo that. The damage would be done. There's no goin' back with these kinds of things."

Mr. Ackles' beard bristles with the scratch of Jared's fingers through it. "Maybe I wouldn't _want_ to go back anyway," Jared quakes.

"Jared." Almost sounds like a laugh. "Jared. You're priceless. You know that?"

"I love you."

Helpless eyes direct themselves at him.

"I love you," he repeats. He still has his hands on Mr. Ackles' face.

Very slowly and while holding eye contact, Mr. Ackles' brushes his hands upwards from Jared's knees, his sides, tucks them between Jared's back and the couch. They are close again, holding on tight, and Jared cannot imagine feeling like this ever again. With anyone.

Maybe this is what Mr. Ackles meant. If he did, well - Jared meant what he said, too.

They end up side by side that evening, holding hands, a movie playing without anyone taking notice of it. An alibi. Jared pretends to be dozing; another one, just to lean against Mr. Ackles so much more freely.

Mr. Ackles kisses the crown of Jared's hair and while a thumb brushes senseless patterns into his thigh, Jared imagines hearing, "Oh, kitten."

Sounds a little painful, but maybe that's how it's supposed to be.


End file.
